


Bohemian Rhapsody

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Classical Music, Love at First Sight, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23428600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: They meet when Crowley decides to write a book and gets some help from his best friend's brother-in-law.Or how Crowley writes a book for Aziraphale
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 69
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reuploaded

"I thought it might take your mind off of… you know… stuff." Gabriel was usually far more eloquent, but usually he didn't have to console his elder brother over a bad break up. 

"Stuff?" Said Ezra. 

"Oh, you don't want me to spill it out. Ezra, I'm not going to indulge you in your self-hatred and pity…"

"Well, at least you don't tell me to keep myself up and just keep going."

"The only time I did that you refused to talk to me for two months! I can't just… who would I talk to if not to you?" Gabriel made a vigorous attempt at puppy eyes. He looked more ridiculous than any puppy and not at all adorable. 

"Stop it, Gabriel, you look awful."

"Yes, give me my snappy brother back. Anyway… about my proposal."

"I don't want to go to Eilat, I really don't."

"Why? It's quiet, it's far from here, and most importantly it's warm and calm and has sea. And!" Gabriel raised his index finger for more emphasis. "You'll have a place to stay!"

"No, Gabriel, I'll have a place to share, and I'm not good with sharing." Aziraphale said bitterly.

"Hey, cheating isn't sharing. Cheating is cheating."

"Again, how very eloquent. To think, you're a lawyer."

"Aziraphale…"

"Maybe you were right. Maybe I'm just an old, soft, useless bookworm who shouldn't have thought…"

"I'll stop you right there, Aziraphale. When I said what I said, I was behaving like a proper bastard and I will never stop apologising for it. There's nothing wrong about you, alright? Your lover was a terrible person and…"

"Was? Did you kill him?"

"I didn't. Should I?" Gabriel asked without skipping a beat. "I mean, I totally would, and I'm a lawyer, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that your ex was a… waste. Of time."

"Gabriel, I appreciate your morbid humour, Bea is indeed very good for you. They made you into something relatively more human than you used to be."

"Bea… they are awesome, you know?"

"Yes, Gabriel, you mentioned it. Seven times today. I counted so that I could make fun of you."

"Here! Here! You're back to yourself. Now, accept my offer, especially since it's not even mine."

***

The offer in question was the following. 

Anthony Crowley, a renowned musician specialising in Western early music, wanted to write a children's book and required the help of someone  _ learned and interesting. _ Judging by Crowley's choice of words, Gabriel could understand why. Crowley was an old friend of Bea, so old actually that neither could remember how they had met. 

Gabriel once tried to be jealous of Crowley. He didn't like to think of that in general, but he remembered with certain fondness how Ezra smiled at Bea as they raged at Gabriel and even tried to hit him with Crowley's viola da gamba which Crowley certainly didn't need to know about. He had his suspicions, though, since Crowley smelled the instrument on receiving it and declared that it smelled of angel and affection. Bea hunted down period instruments with the fierceness of a hell hound, and sometimes when they felt benevolent, they would sell an instrument to Crowley relatively cheap which Crowley appreciated.

He toured a lot and didn't have a home on principle. He would spend years somewhere studying music and then went out of his way to popularise it. That was how he ended up with three albums of Afghan music and two of Turkish music and ten of what he begrudgingly agreed to call Balkan music. He went into specific details in the booklet and Decca had to reconsider everything about his contract before Crowley set Bea on them and made them reconsider it again.

He wrote or arranged music for some popular shows set in the Medieval times and found himself rich, exhausted and with a bunch of awards he didn't know what to do with. 

After some soul searching, he decided to join his mother in Jerusalem where she taught at Schechter, regretted it after a week because Jerusalem was the city he had grown up in and it had too many people who wanted to express their admiration. It was truly ridiculous how small Jerusalem was, really, and how easy it was to run into a former classmate. 

Crowley bought a penthouse in Eilat and took a sabbatical. 

Three days into it he called Bea and told them about his ambition to write a book. Bea laughed at him and Crowley sent them his drafts. Bea stopped laughing, got offended that Crowley had never told them about his writing and talked to Gabriel who had discovered the day before that his brother's sorry excuse of a lover had cheated on him.

Bea offered to hit the bastard with an old oud but relented and suggested to Gabriel that Ezra could be just the man Crowley wanted, by which point Crowley had already talked to Gabriel since Crowley would never shut up about the things he was passionate about. 

As Bea hunted down musical instruments, Ezra Fell was in the constant search of collectible books. He restored them when he fancied it, and he did it so well, he had a long queue of clients he didn't care about. While Bea traveled, Ezra conducted his hunt by correspondence alone. His bookshop was popular among academics and fellow book aficionados. He was doing rather well, that is until he ended up brokenhearted, lonely and moping, as Bea had elegantly put it. He closed his shop, stopped bookhunting and contemplated his loneliness, age and body image. Since Gabriel was in part to blame for Ezra's insecurities, he took it close to the place in his chest where his heart used to be before Bea had claimed it as theirs. 

Ezra agreed in the end. The arrangement was that he'd move to Crowley's penthouse, which was so big Crowley claimed to have never visited some parts of it, and help the musician write his book. In Gabriel's opinion, for once fully supported by Bea, he was indeed learned and interesting, but more importantly he needed a change of scenery. 

***

On a bright morning in September (it was Arava, all mornings were bright) Ezra walked out of the gates of the Ramon airport to be greeted by a lanky stick man with messy red hair whose black outfit seemed to be the most uncomfortable choice in the permanently hot weather. He wore sunglasses, had an expression of chronic boredom on his sharp face and drove an old black Bentley. He was ridiculous. 

But he immediately snatched Ezra's bag, shook his hand, suggested a breakfast in a chippy he was fond of, asked how London was, mentioned that he had been born there  _ and the Scottish accent was just a part of his genome since his mother was Scottish _ and drove down to Eilat much faster than it was legal. If the intention was to distract Ezra, then by the end of the drive he was very distracted and praying for his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Somewhere around the time Crowley was in Kabul learning to play the rehab, Crowley had an image of the world upside down with the clouds that felt like soft jelly (and he realised he rather liked it) and he walked over the jelly and gazed at the mountains above him and then… it was all rather absurd really, and maybe he was too enchanted with the rehab which nobody in their right mind would criticise him for, but the idea stayed and exploded but in a subtle, creeping way. It had to be the music, no other culprit, no one to blame for his visions of forests and peculiar creatures within them and entire worlds on those creatures heads and hands. It felt like being high or very drunk, but he could be drunk enough on the music alone. He wrote something down, considered it foolish and stopped, until he couldn't stop it, until his hand appeared to have begun a life of its own.

And that was how he was greeting a handsome man in his early fifties who looked at ease in his body and cream-coloured shirt and who descended from some otherworldly sphere which had been sending Crowley those strange and enchanting visions. Ezra Fell definitely looked one of them, with his unruly white curls, blue-grey eyes and a smile that made Crowley weak in the knees, the bony stick insect that he was. Ezra had beautiful shoulders and seemed stronger, more present than his deceivingly unassuming presence might suggest. Crowley caught himself thinking he'd love those round arms around him. He'd also love that expressive mouth telling him something more substantial than greetings and useless courtesies, and so, a few minutes after meeting Ezra, Crowley found himself dreaming as he was prone to, about being someone else, somewhere else, about being a bard at the court of his kingly and modest guest. His penthouse seemed such an unworthy arrangement now. Rather anachronistic, too. 

***

"What… should I call you? Bea always refer to you as  _ Crowley. _ "

"Yes, that's what I'm called. What I called myself. Whatever. You just… call me, I'll understand." Crowley picked at his fish and chips.

"I'm not sure I'm quite comfortable with this… arrangement, Crowley."

"Oh… well, you're not alone. I expected someone less distinguished, someone I could trick and impress, you know." The fish was judging Crowley and he pushed the plate away and concentrated on the few people walking down the promenade at the early hour, at the lazy sea going back and forth in the bay between Eilat and Aqaba. The air was lazy too, everything was lazy and ready to dream the lid away. That was the atmosphere of eternal rest any resort had, a certain feeling of being suspended in time and just enjoying things as if one had been immortal. All of it, his guest, the sea, the wind, the heavy smell of fried food twisted between Crowley's twitchy fingers into something… something baroque, something both ridiculous and exquisite. He absent-mindedly lifted his hands holding a piece of the morning as a theorbo. 

"My dear, what are you doing?" Asked his kingly guest gently.

"Me? What? Nothing," Crowley dropped his hands back on his lap. 

"You're not eating, and you suggested this place."

"Well, it's good. Just not… not hungry, I guess. Not entirely myself either, you know."

"I wouldn't unless you tell me."

The softness of his voice rhymed with the wind, the pale colour of his hair and skin rhymed with the hour, the way his lips moved made Crowley think that those lips were not made for mere human talking. One should have created entire worlds, at least building with the grace that emanated from Ezra. 

Crowley looked at him in awe, his sunglasses slid down his nose.

"My dear, you seem to have seen… I don't know, an angel, maybe?" Ezra chuckled. 

"Yeah… might have been. Maybe. Maybe dreamed one up."

"You're a very peculiar person, but I think you know that already."

"Well, I've just played an imaginary theorbo, so…"

"Ah, so that was a theorbo. I thought about rehab. Or oud, perhaps."

"Did you?"

"I did. I'm quite used to the sight of you with an instrument, so I suppose my silly mind is filling in the gaps." Ezra smiled. He seemed to be enjoying his food, so much so that Crowley wanted to bring him delicacies from every place in Eilat that he knew. He wanted to show him around, too. He suddenly found Eilat rather interesting, quite undiscovered. Of course the comfort of a bedroom and the pleasure of a cool shower had to come first.

It was getting cold, and Ezra rolled his sleeves up a bit, revealing his pale golden skin with darker golden hair on it. He was beautiful, yes, that was the word, the one Crowley saved for theorbos and ouds. He wasn't beautiful like a theorbo anyway. He had that graceful, impossible beauty that didn't reveal itself in lines and curves, no, it was some inner glow, some essential beauty, something masterful, something perfectly human, something soft, something gentle.

"What music do you like?" Crowley asked.

"Chopin is my favourite, I think. I love Britten."

Crowley felt both impossibly older and impossibly younger than his counterpart. He felt like an Erlkönig, youthful and mischievous, and older than the forest itself. That old boy, that soft angel, he made him forget his place as the king of his imagined forest, of his strange world with different laws of physics, with everything different… It might have been tasteless and illiterate and plain old stupid, but he could feel it, he wanted to drag it over the edge of his mind and throw it in the middle of his living room just to get rid of it. Just to play the rebab safely again without the risk of being distracted in the middle of the concert by another vision of those peculiar clouds, of the feeling of fall and flight, of flying ships and sailing carriages. No, no grown-up would indulge him, and yet, only a child would be his truest critic. What would that soft and impossibly beautiful man prove to be? 

***

Crowley wasn't talkative or so he wanted to think, yet around Ezra he was doing nothing but chattering like a drunk sparrow.

"So, the second floor is all yours. The kitchen is only here, I'm afraid, but you'll be no bother, really, and I'll be no bother either. I mostly just sit there, I mean in my so called living room and… being ridiculous, you know. But the fridge is full of the food you like, Bea kindly supplied me with a list. And my laptop is yours, no passwords or shit. You're welcome to destroy my wildest and stupidest dreams with a single button, right? So… this is your place for all it's worth, and here's your key, and I hired a car for you because nobody touches my Bentley…"

"I don't drive."

"Oh… I hope you find it as stupid and funny as I do. Otherwise I'm alone in my ridiculousness."

"Oh no, my dear, I find it very awkward indeed and do try my best to laugh at it."

"Good… then… ehm… you know. Let me… know when you need something. Or when you want to get started."

***

It was late in the evening when Ezra told Crowley he wanted to get started. They had dinner at a fish restaurant and Ezra finished a generous serving of fettuccine with salmon and three quarters of Crowley's portion because Crowley claimed to be full almost immediately. 

Aqaba glowed in the darkness, the penthouse floated above Eilat, above the sea, above the time itself. It was decidedly the time for strange stories.

"Your drafts don't make much sense, dear boy, although they are very well written. How about you tell me what you want to write and I'll type? I'll be your… secretary."

"It sounds kinky."

"Only if you think so, Crowley. Come on. I'm here to work, and you've been spoiling me with good food, wonderful wine and your surrealistic mumbling all through the day. Let me earn my place."

Crowley, a bit drunk, was pacing around the flat occasionally attempting to dance. 

"Or you might play for me," said Ezra deviously and laid back on the sofa setting the laptop aside. The next moment Crowley was sitting in front of his with a bloody theorbo, eyes closed, the ridiculous, impossible, perfect instrument in his hands.

It was Robert de Visée, La Mascarade Rondeau, quiet and demanding and worthy of a king.

Ezra let his head fall on the many cushions of Crowley's sofa, comfortable and ignorant of how Crowley cherished the way his head landed on those cushions, souvenirs from Afghanistan, Turkey, Greece and whichever places he had visited, cherished the very comfort the almost mad musician had built. 

Oh, Crowley didn't know then, couldn't know then, that a man would land there, in his flat who'd cherish it all for the pleasure it could give. Crowley himself saw it as nothing but a token of another trip, another journey. His theorbo melted into his fingers, pliant and amorous, loyal as a knight.

The living room had been intended for the musical instruments anyway. There was a grand piano, there was a lute, there was a viola da gamba, there was a rebab, there was an oud.

"Play some jazz, please," asked Ezra when Crowley paused. "You can do it, dear boy, can't you?"

"On a theorbo?" Crowley tried to be snarky.

"Whatever you choose." Ezra smiled, rather unable to log his head. "You had me drunk and inarticulate, so… do it."

"You think I'm not drunk? You think I'm articulate?"

"But you can play it all." Ezra relaxed even more. He heard the theorbo being placed in its place, then some other instrument being picked up. 

"Kanun," Ezra smiled drunkenly. 

Crowley swallowed the dry, air-conditioned air and smote the strings. He wanted the blood to spill on those strings, his own blood, the blood of the devil as his mother joked once when it turned out it took him an evening to learn to play an instrument. He'd summon the timbales, the oud, the kavals, the violas and violins just to date that beautiful man's hunger for the sweet, snake-like music he had spent so much time studying. There he was, after all those years, the proper, worthy audience of all his wanderings. 

He did smite the strings. He considered it a payment for all the nonsense he would pour into those pink, lovely, definitely erogenic ears later…

Crowley ravished the kanun and to think, he had been told he was an average lover. Well, not to that man, not to Ezra, who rocked his head and smiled like he was being pleasured by someone… someone Crowley very much hoped to be looking like him.

"Now, my dear," Ezra said as Crowley was breathing hard. "Tell me your story. I'll be a far better listener than any sultan, for I'll write you down."

***

_ It was discovered early, as the Poet was still but a child. He could build with his words. He could never think that such capability would soon be considered a requirement. The Council agreed to pay for his education without even being asked to do so. There were buildings, schools, temples, libraries created by his songs and nothing else.  _

_ By the time he was old, the whole world was scattered with his poems, and not in the words, but in stone and metal and wood, depending on what he wanted. What nobody needed to know was that the Poet wanted a challenge. He made castles out of thin air, he turned the words into walls.  _

_ He tried to make a human once, and only managed to get a glimpse of that man he imagined for himself, his perfect lover, long hair, long limbs, divine grace, dancing in front of him, playing his rebab with the grace of someone born with the rebab. _

_ Then one day a young man, a boy, really, came to him and demanded a labyrinth he would not be able to solve.  _


	3. Chapter 3

_ The Poet soon understood that no matter how complex, the child would solve the labyrinth, and no beast would scare him, and so, having considered it thoroughly, the Poet made himself the solution to the labyrinth and sent the boy into it thinking that he'd never solve it. He was calm, he was smug even. No person, however clever, could solve him, could understand that he longed for the perfect question, not the perfect answer. _

***

Linen was the best fabric for that weather. It kept Ezra cool, collected and covered, even if he had to give up his bowtie, his suspenders, his favourite velvet waistcoat, and so, while Crowley sauntered around in his tight blue jeans and oversized t-shirts that left nothing to the imagination concerning his collarbones, Ezra was collected and proper. That one, that old child, that fragile boy wouldn't consider him soft and fat.

Crowley took him to the Eilat underwater observatory continuing to play the perfect host. It was a working day and the hour was early, so the place was empty. Blue and green light felt like water, and the observatory was quiet. 

"This place… it kinda brings your eyes," said Crowley.

"Fills them with awe, you mean?" Asked Ezra very awed indeed.

"Well, that, for sure, and like… you're eerily blue-eyed now."

"I do hope you're scared."

"Nah, I'm cool."

"It is rather cool here… do you want to continue? I'll record you and then type it down."

"Ezra, why are you doing this if I may ask?"

"I don't think you may yet. I'm having a very good time here, and any explanation requires memory and my memory… I would like it to be empty and quiet. I would like it to be like the sea."

"You know, I think you should write and I should type."

"No, my dear. You have very peculiar imagination unperturbed by notions of measure or taste, and I mean it as a compliment. You're a natural dreamer."

"You don't need to flatter me."

"Oh, but I like to," Ezra pouted and moved along. Crowley looked at a passing cornetfish. 

"This is all very strange and I think I'm in trouble… oi, don't look at me like that."

"I believe it finds you attractive," Ezra laughed from a few steps away.

"Then you're obviously trespassing on my flirting with a fish."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, that was wicked of me."

"Ezra, we're going home and get to that stupid book I should have known better than to begin."

"But Crowley, I'm typing it, I'm editing it on the go and after you trail of and get a lute for yourself."

***

The way Crowley looked at him, puzzled Ezra. There was an unmistakable hint of some hidden message, some signal, which Ezra couldn't understand. It was overall a very mischievous look. Sometimes it seemed a bit possessive. They were a bottle of wine in, although they hadn't even eaten lunch yet, and such bohemian liberty both bothered and made Ezra equally mischievous. He had apparently let go. He allowed himself to be foolish and to tease Crowley just because he felt like it and frankly Crowley didn't seem to mind. 

_ The Poet let the boy into the labyrinth one morning and the boy… _

"Crowley, he has to have a name."

"Your pick, Ezra."

"Gal?"

"Let it be Gal. Anyway…  _ Gal paid the Poet and, still rather skeptical, entered the labyrinth. It didn't seem like Gal's notion of labyrinth, it had no walls to speak of or alleyways, was devoid of any sense of closed space. As it happened, Gal stood by the gates of a garden of which every corner appeared to be visible. He could see the fields and a forest behind the garden. The place was loud with the birds' chirping, buzzing of bees, frogs raised their voice from a small pond on Gal's left. He walked to the pond and looked into its dark and muddy waters. Something was off.  _

_ As Gal looked at his blurry reflection and couldn't really recognise his own face. The frogs were nowhere to be seen but their croaking grew louder. Gal touched his face, his throat.  _

_ "Really now, master," he muttered. "Brilliant." Gal stood up and walked away from the pond. She felt spectacular. _

_ "Well, well, well… this is all very impressive and true. Very well done."  _

_ Meanwhile the Poet returned to his house and prepared himself a cup of tea. Whoever Gal was, however clever he was, there could be no way he'd be able to solve the labyrinth and the Poet made sure that he could leave the labyrinth any time he wanted. Previous attempts found Gal at the Poet's door barely an hour after he had entered a labyrinth, which was interesting and challenging but a bit irritating if he said so himself.  _

_ There was a knock at the Poet's door. He frowned, then grinned mischievously. There he was, that flash bastard, giving up already. _

_ Two soldiers stood by the door. _

_ "This is Hastur," said one and pointed at his companion. _

_ "This is Ligur," said the second and pointed at the first. _

_ "The dukes of hell?" Asked the Poet incredulously. Two men looked at each other then at the Poet and blushed. _

_ "Not really," said the first. _

_ "But this is how the princess called us and her words tend to be heard and listened to." Explained the second. _

_ "She hasn't been seen for a while and everyone is worried sick!" Complained the first. _

_ "The princess was seen at your house, or at least someone who looked like her very much." Clarified the first. _

_ "I have many visitors, but I assure you, no princess came by. I would have known." Said the Poet smugly. _

_ "No, you wouldn't. Princess is very good at disguising herself. Let me describe her though…" Began Ligur with frustrated affection of an old mentor who refuses to acknowledge that he very much enjoys running after his naughty charge. "Has there been a young person here who drove you mad with their questions or requests? Have you been commissioned to make something… probably impossible and received the most endearing irritation when you failed to fulfill their wish?" _

_ "Princess Gal is adorable when she's irritated. She deserves the world. She's the smartest person in any room and well…" Hastur trailed of, lost in dreamy adoration. _

_ "Gal?" Asked the Poet. "Well… as it happens… yes, he definitely fits the description… where are my manners? Would you like to come in?" _

_ "No, it's fine. Has she by any chance demanded a labyrinth she wouldn't be able to solve?" Asked Ligur.  _

_ "Pronouns!" Growled Hastur. _

_ "Oh, right. So sorry. Has the prince…" _

_ "He has," replied the Poet, more perplexed than he'd like to admit. _

_ "Right. Did you deliver?" Asked Hastur and growled again, threateningly this time. _

_ "I hope so. It took some time but… " _

_ "Oh, you brilliant! Well, when Gal returns to you, please tell her that her people miss her and that they are prospering just as she arranged for them." Ligur beamed at the Poet. _

_ "And please, please, tell her that we are not worried about her and know that she can handle herself just fine, but we're… well… we can't handle ourselves just as well without her, you know." Managed Hastur. _

_ "This is all very endearing, but I doubt Gal will return to me." _

_ "If she liked your work, she will return and persuade you to come with her to Alpha Centauri…" _

_ "She could try," the Poet chuckled. Both men looked at him in shock. _

_ "I don't think you understand, master. If Prince Gal calls you, you join her. It's been considered good luck for centuries, to be invited by her." Said Ligur. _

_ "How come I've never heard of her or her kingdom then?" The Poet never gave up easily. _

_ "You have. She's smart and mischievous as we told you. Everything you ever read and dreamed of wistfully, every quiet and kind place you heard of, all of it is Alpha Centauri. She just doesn't like you know, being praised." Said Hastur. _

_ "And if she didn't like your work, she'll come back to… ask you a lot of questions. As you have learned," Ligur smiled. "Anyway, give the Prince our love."  _

_ Both men bowed and walked away. The Poet watched them go and couldn't believe a word he had just heard. He decided he'd better return to his tea, now cold and unappealing. _


	4. Chapter 4

"Crowley?"

There was no answer, the strings continued to be plucked, and the music continued to flow through the vast flat, its owner oblivious to everything including the way he sprawled on the floor. Ezra really didn't need someone of Crowley's appeal so soon after his break-up, with his heart still soft and open and his capacity for love unused and chained.

"Crowley!"

"Wh… what?" Crowley opened his eyes and sat up, his arms frozen around the lute.

"You haven't told me a thing in awhile and I'm sort of… involved. Interested. Enchanted."

"Oi, piss of, Ezra… sorry, that was rude. Shit."

"What are playing?"

"Monteverdi."

"Yes, I thought so. It's lovely, do go on. I just want you to continue after you finish."

"Aren't you hungry? I'm very hungry! What do you want?"

Ezra looked around. The sun was down, the air turned navy blue, orange and purple, the sea grew darker and more pensive.

"Anything. I just want you to go on." Ezra smiled encouragingly.

"You're smart, well-read, charming and disgustingly kind. What are you doing here?"

"I told you, I'm not ready to talk about it."

"I'm sorry." Crowley stood up, so that suddenly there was much more of him to ogle and admire. "I'm forgetting myself. Fuck. Wine? I'll order us pizza."

Ezra pouted. Crowley looked lost for words.

"I'm not ready to cook," he warned.

"I can cook." Ezra shrugged.

"Nah, you'll keep typing… unless of course you want to cook."

Ezra sighed. He put the laptop aside, stood up and walked into the kitchen, oblivious to the way Crowley looked at him as he did so. Crowley might have been oblivious to it himself.

In the kitchen, in the spaceship of a fridge, Ezra found cucumbers, tomatoes, a couple of decent avocados, some lettuce and quickly made a salad. He searched for something in the pantry under Crowley's puzzled gaze and finally found what he had been looking for - pumpkin seeds and pine nuts. He tossed a handful of each into the salad and put the bowl on the table, sharp and slick and obnoxiously modern, just like everything in Crowley's flat. 

"Shall we?" Ezra asked.

"You look very… smug, Ezra. It's just a salad. You forgot balsamic vinegar, too." 

It was meant as a teasing remark, but somehow it made Ezra lose all his easy grace, his soft, demanding and yet gentle charm.

"Ezra, what's wrong? I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"It's alright, my dear." Ezra heavily sat on a chair and covered his face. 

"It's obviously not. What have I done? What have I said?" Crowley moved slowly towards Ezra and knelt in front of him. "I'm not going to push your hands away from your face, but please… let me… let me… apologise. I didn't mean to…"

"He loved balsamic vinegar, and I managed to push him far enough to forget most things connected to him." Ezra mumbled, his voice weak.

"Whoever he was, Ezra… did he hurt you?"

"Maybe I've simply lost someone dear to me," Ezra chuckled bitterly.

"Well… I'm sorry. Fuck balsamic vinegar. Fuck salad. I can't… I can't stand you like that."

"Well, he couldn't stand me either." Ezra swiftly rose and left the kitchen.

***

Crowley gave Ezra a few minutes and then ran to the second floor. Ezra was sitting by his bedroom's door and quietly sobbed. Crowley carefully sat next to him. 

"Ezra? Ezra, I didn't… I mean… you're beautiful, you know? Kind, sassy, clever… you name it. What I meant is that… I can't stand you being so hurt. Makes me want to kill someone."

Ezra sobbed and laughed at the same time.

"Did he… did he leave you?" Crowley asked, unsure of whether he could hold Ezra.

"He cheated on me. Told me… I was boring. Ugly. Too old, too average for him… I loved him… I'm afraid I still do."

"That's… ehm… entirely your business, you know? But you… you're great! I've known you for a few days and you're an absolute delight to be around."

"He thought so after a few days too, and after a few years he was having sex in our bedroom while I was away… I had never been away before."

"Look… I'm really no good with anger… so before I… no, it's not about me. I'm going to get you to bed, ok?"

"Don't bother, my dear, really. I'm making a scene…"

"You're grieving. How come you need someone as stupid as me to explain that to you?" Crowley quite effortlessly helped Ezra to his feet and led him to his bedroom. 

"Here… lie down… would you like something to drink? Maybe something really strong?"

"I don't want pity, I don't…" Ezra wailed into a pillow.

"Pity? Ezra… Ezra, please look at me. The first time I saw you I thought you… you were a bloody angel! I haven't seen anyone as… fucking handsome as you are, alright? Shit, I'm forgetting myself again! I'll let you rest… call me if you need anything… Do you want me to stay with you?"

Ezra didn't answer at first, his face still hidden in the pillow.

"I'm so sorry, my dear… you… you shouldn't have seen this. I have… abused your hospitality."

"Ezra, this is just a lot of shit. I'm going to bring some whiskey… probably the lute as well… need to take your mind off of things."

Crowley rushed downstairs, grabbed his best whiskey and the lute and returned to Ezra. 

"If you apologise, I'm gonna… hit you with my lute and however unfair, Bea won't find it as hilarious as I would have."

"Well… I'm not ready to take any risks," replied Ezra meekly.

"Fine. Here, take a good sip," Crowley handed him the bottle.

"What, like this? Like a barbarian?"

"Yes, quite, and then I'll play you some Monteverdi." Crowley sat at Ezra's feet. 

"Could you play something less… melancholic? Vivaldi maybe?"

"There's no pleasing you, but I'm determined to do so. Vivaldi it is. Give me the bottle for a moment, will you?" 

"Don't you… want glasses?"

"Nah, I'm good. This reminds me," Crowley took a sip and took his sunglasses off. "Now, don't freak out, I was born this way."

"Why should I freak out… oh."

"Yeah…"

"They are beautiful. Your eyes. You look like a very underfed cat. Or a very limbed snake."

"Why, thank you…"

"No, it really is the most fetching shade of yellow and a very… wisely arranged bilateral coloboma."

"Oh, you old flirt. Take the bottle back."

Crowley handed the whiskey back to Ezra and touched the lute. "Vivaldi… ok then. I hope you totally appreciate that I can play from the memory."

"I'm all appreciation, my dear."

"You'd better be."

"You'd better play," Ezra laughed, quietly and with echoes of sobs in it, but that had to do at the moment.

***

Three quarters of the whiskey in and after two full concerti Ezra suggested that "It can't be comfortable down there, Crowley. Come here. I'll let you have some of the pillows."

"It can't be comfortable because I'm drunk," grumbled Crowley and settled next to Ezra almost hitting him with the lute's neck. "Shit… let's change places," Crowley said and began an epic climb over Ezra as Ezra tried to wiggle his way onto Crowley's side of the bed.

"That was awkward," concluded Crowley trying to catch his breath.

"Yes, rather," replied Ezra. They looked at each other and burst out laughing. 

Another concerto was performed, only this time Vivaldi sounded a lot like Muddy Waters. Crowley finished and looked pensively at his lute apparently wondering whether it had been a guitar all along. 

"Maybe we should do something else," suggested Crowley. 

"What are you in the mood for now?" Asked Ezra cheerfully.

"Er… anything I want requires getting up and I'm incapable of doing so…"

"How about you keep telling me of Gal's adventures and I'll type on my phone?"

"Wicked," Crowley looked over at Ezra appreciatively. 

The man managed to fish his phone out of his pocket, opened the file and turned to Crowley. "Ready, my dear?"

"Sure. Where were we?"

_ Gal spent much time in the garden admiring the flowers. "Although…" she concluded as she was leaving the garden to step into the fields, "it's all just poetic nonsense… beautiful, no doubt. So full of yearning… but oh dear Poet, gingko biloba requires a different climate." _

_ She walked for a few minutes in the tall grass until something caught her attention. _

_ "Oh, aren't you a beauty," she cooed at a small snake at her feet. She crouched and offered the beast her hand which the snake refused, albeit reluctantly. "You're awesome, just so you know… he thinks I can't feel it, can't see that he built the labyrinth from himself. It will take longer than usual, but I'll solve it. Then… then your fussy adorable creator will have to come with me to Alpha Centauri. He'll be happy there…" _

_ She stood up and looked around. _

_ "It all stinks of a broken heart. We'll have to fix it, you know?" She looked down at the snake. "You're very welcome to accompany me, you know. Might be a little long and a little lonely… oh, what a shy snake you are!" _

_ She huffed in mock displeasure and continued with her walk, whistling something soft and vaguely mischievous. _

_ Meanwhile the Poet settled in his library with a new cup of tea. He was deep in thought. Gal solved each and every labyrinth he had built before the one she was currently in, and the Poet had a hard time understanding why she had wanted an unsolvable labyrinth in the first place.  _

_ He absent-mindedly caressed an oyster shell in front of him. The shell suddenly opened and Gal's voice came in. _

_ "Broken heart indeed… and to think, nothing here speaks to me. Rude, plainly rude! I wouldn't ask for clues even… don't need them really. But… but… the important thing is to learn what his name is, just because I'm curious… I wouldn't ask him, but if he turned himself into a labyrinth, then he's teasing me too much… well, I might discover it and never tell him about it. There's another thing… see, my dear shy fox, nobody but the Poet has ever built a diamond with words. Diamonds can't be made into poems and vice versa. As far as I know there are certain wicked bastards who are looking for him to persuade him to write a few diamonds for them… I would hate for him to be used this way. He's far too… fussy and lovely for this, you know what I mean? And beneath all this fussiness he doesn't have an arrogant bone in his body, he tolerated my endless questions with angelic patience… right. Well, it's not going to be here, not at all…" _

_ Her voice trailed off and the Poet heard someone knocking again. He hastily opened the door and saw an unpleasant short man with a fake smile at his door. _

_ "Hello. My name is Sandalphon and I…" _

_ The Poet looked at the man. He didn't know him but his demeanor was eerily menacing. He quickly excused himself, left the door open, grabbed the shell and wrote himself into the labyrinth. _


	5. Chapter 5

Ezra woke up to rather pleasant thoughts which were the following: the Poet, looking a lot like Ezra, stood in front of Gal, who looked a lot like Crowley, and awkwardly held the oyster shell in his hands, and Gal smiled in that adorable, hell, beautiful way Crowley did when Bea was mentioned. There was a hint of mischief and an absolutely repulsive taste in Ezra's mouth. It felt like a whole dairy had established itself on Ezra's tongue and the manager was doing a very poor job indeed.

It was pleasantly cool, and the air was still gray, and the sky, the sea and Aqaba formed a tender pink-gray landscape in the windows.

Ezra turned his head. Crowley was cuddling his lute, his endless limbs encircling it in a deadly embrace, and had the lute had eyes, it would have rolled them.

"Morning, angel," mumbled Crowley and hugged the lute tighter. 

"I'm bravely resisting the temptation of taking a picture of you cuddling your lute and sending it to Bea." Said Ezra. 

"It's so early and you're so sassy," replied Crowley dreamily, his eyes closed but certainly awake. He moved his lips, grimaced. "I have an abandoned dairy farm in my mouth. Gosh, it's ghastly. I'm gonna eat all my toothpaste."

Ezra laughed heartily.

"I doubt it would be good for you. Or nourishing."

"Ssshut up, Ezra. 'm disgusting."

"Well, so am I."

"Nah, you're an angel." His eyes were suddenly open, the doubled, private sunrise in front of Ezra, the nicest, the most breathtaking he had ever seen. "Morning, angel… looking good."

"Definitely. I'm at my best when I stink."

"Oi, sassy again. And it's…" Crowley lifted his watch to his eyes and squinted. "Five o'bloody'clock! I'm returning to sleep. I'll stink, but I'll be full of energy and able to consume enough toothpaste." 

Crowley cuddled his lute closer still and closed his eyes again.

"Or we could walk down to the sea and watch the sunset." Ezra suggested.

"Then you're making breakfast… stinking sunset. Stinking musician. Bleergh… Disgusting!" Crowley licked his lips and winced.

"You saved me, you know," said Ezra.

"Don't be dramatic, angel. I got you drunk. It's called an unhealthy coping mechanism."

"I loved it."

"Well, then you're hopeless and your ex lover," Crowley winced so hard it was unbearable, "is an even more abandoned dairy farm than the one in my stinking mouth."

"I'd kiss you… just so you know."

"Guess you're really desperate." Crowley sighed. "Come on, take your picture and send it to Bea. They're gonna love it.  _ Oh look, Crowley shagged his lute.  _ As if they hadn't made that same joke ten hundred times… shit, it's awful. Gonna eat me some toothpaste." Crowley swiftly stood up and sauntered in the direction of Ezra's bathroom. 

A few moments later Ezra, who was definitely inappropriately touching the lute, heard Crowley yell that "It's disgusting! It can only be double mint! It has to be double mint… fuck! Now I have to go downstairs and I'm not sure my vestibular system is back online yet… what the fuck!"

Crowley sauntered back and looked Ezra in the eye to make a confession.

"I'm gay, you know?" 

"I… don't. I mean… Bea must have mentioned." Ezra rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. He felt happy, soft, cherished… it was new, it was lovely.

"Aretha Franklin. Or Dinah Washington… a sunrise, right." Crowley walked past the bed, grabbed the lute and left Ezra's room. 

A few moments later Ezra heard…

_...about the boy _

_ Lord knows I'm not a fool girl _

_ I really shouldn't care _

_ Lord knows I'm not a school girl _

_ Who's in the flurry of her first affair _

_ Will it ever cloy _

_ This odd diversity of misery and joy _

_ I'm feeling quite insane  _

_ And young again… _

Crowley's hopeless singing accompanied Dinah Washington, and Ezra laughed. He made sure his own vestibular system was back online and got up. 

Crowley was half-stuck in a fresh t-shirt as he manipulated his mind-bogglingly complex coffee machine. He swayed his hips, tried to get fully into the t-shirt, all the while spreading cream cheese on a warmed up bagel. 

_ Although I'm quite aware  _

_ That here and there _

_ There are traces of the cad _

_ About the boy _

Dinah Washington, being immortal, ignored the time and place and went on singing just as Crowley's hips pretended to dance and Crowley pretended he got a perfect understanding of how to put a piece of clothing on.

They ate quickly and silently, then walked down to the sea. Rare cars shuffled by, the sea was audibly, wantonly, lewdly licking into the sand, and as for Ezra, he walked on air, and as for Crowley, he did too, and maybe neither was aware of it, but the colour, the sound, the smell of a lazy morning were all around them. 

They sat by the water, and Ezra sank his bare feet into the quiet waves, and Crowley looked at his toes and insisted he had to go on with the story, so Ezra took out his phone and was ready to type when Crowley said:

"I doubt you've ever been lovelier, you know? I'm so glad Gabriel and Bea convinced you to join me… it feels so right! Like… like the laws of physics."

And Ezra smiled at him, and Crowley said that  _ no one should be smiled at like that _ , and the shops and the cafes were still closed, and some lonely divers dove into the waves along with lonesome surfers and early swimmers, and the water tickled between Ezra's toes, and laughed at Crowley's still sandal-clad feet and Vivaldi descended from Heaven and Monteverdi wept somewhere far, and people in other posh penthouses woke up and grumbled on with their routines, and the world was round and right, and the air was clean and soft, and everything was just the way it had to be from the start,  _ just as the Poet landed in the middle of his wall-less labyrinth and at Gal's feet. Gal looked at him bemusedly and said something witty. _

_ "Who's Sandalphon?" Asked the Poet. _

_ "Oh, so they found you… I'm so sorry. I heard them in the marketplace making enquiries about you. Now, everyone knows where to find your white curls and pale blue eyes, so I thought that if they don't know the usual path or prefer to ignore it, then they're up to no good, just as I was, and I hate competition, Poet. Wanna get up?" _

_ The Poet saw a long hand in front of him and grabbed it desperately. _

_ "See," said Gal with a grin helping the Poet to his feet, "I can't let anyone bother you. I have a lot of questions and I'm not accustomed to being interrupted." _

_ "So you decided to drive me mad with your labyrinth?" Replied the Poet grumpily. _

_ "Nah, you enjoyed it. How long has it been since you had a proper challenge? They call you the Poet, and I know you hate being lauded. It doesn't become you, doesn't feel right for you to just sit there and bask in your glory." _

_ "You're idealising me, your royal highness." _

_ "Oh, so Hastur and Ligur dropped by. Hope they weren't too sappy." Gal winced. Somewhere during their conversation the Princess turned into the Prince. _

_ "No, no, I assure you, they were respectful." _

_ "Well, if you assure me… you know, you seem to be incapable of creating a labyrinth I commissioned you to build me. See, the whole place is kind of a broken diamond structure. Your immortal diamond heart… I say you created it by mistake when you gave your own heart away and were dying… the Council could only approve, but they didn't guard your success well enough to sway bastards like Sandalphon from trying to persuade you to make them rich." _

_ "I don't see why it bothers you so much." The Poet said defiantly. _

_ "It didn't, until I met you. See, the way you are, all soft features and kind smiles and endless patience… you shouldn't be used. Shouldn't be exploited. You, Poet, deserve to be loved, to be given time and space to restore your heart, and I daresay Alpha Centauri is just the place for you. Nobody will ever bother you and I'll protect you." _

_ "You need to solve the labyrinth first." _

_ "Nothing to solve. It's a broken diamond structure, it's your weeping heart. I'm sorry I asked you for something that reminded you of a heartless person who refused your gift. It broke my own heart to have learned about it." _

_ "You don't know me. Marketplace gossip doesn't… understand me either." _

_ "Well, Poet, I'm a prince. I looked for another game to amuse me and found you. I sought to help you and ended up hurting you. I can leave this place any minute but it's beautiful and so are you. That's why I suggest we keep walking. Would you like some time to write your home into the labyrinth? Then I can get you to Alpha Centauri and you can pine there for as long as you want." _

_ "I don't pine!"  _

_ "Poet, you may disregard marketplace but they hardly talk of anything but you, and they say things there. Now, I'm not judging you." _

_ "Sounds like you do." _

_ "Check your own ears then. Check your doubts, too." _

_ "I still have doubts about your kingdom. How come I've never heard of it?" _

_ Gal stopped and all of a sudden looked serene.  _

_ "You create with a word. I create with a thought. I'm as old as you, you know? Don't need a diamond heart to stay alive though. I just… think that I'm immortal. But people gossip, and so I imagined they gossiped of other beautiful places. I never wanted glory, never was much of an angel, I'll admit. Shall we keep walking? I would like to return to your garden and explain a few things to you, if you don't mind…" _


	6. Chapter 6

"Alright, my dear, stop. I want clarification." Ezra pulled his feet out of water and looked at Crowley for the first time in a while. Crowley, as it turned out, was looking at him quite intently. "Is everything alright, Crowley?"

"Ngk… yes, sure. Just… dozed off."

"And kept talking?"

"I'm very… talented."

"No doubt about it, my dear." Ezra felt an urge to be a bastard and was almost certain that Crowley would approve. Alternatively, he might have had a very delusional hangover. "Like what you see?"

Crowley was speechless and appeared to be stunned. Then he grinned like Mephistopheles who had just got a hold of Faust (for however short time). "Sassy angel. I definitely like you… Bloody fucking hell, what am I saying?" (Mephistopheles was defeated very quickly after all.) Crowley jumped to his feet and pointed at Ezra. "You! Are flirting with me!" 

"Me?! Never!" Ezra jumped to his feet too.

"Damn well you are! You threatened to kiss me earlier!"

"Oh, you're very safe, Crowley. After you ate two tubes of double mint toothpaste like a toddler you are? No way I will ever kiss you." 

"Bloody hell, you're too sweet for me to be angry with you!" Accused Crowley and bent over in laughter. "But my pride is hurt," he added straightening up.

"Oh, should I kiss it better?" 

"Ezra, stop. It's dangerous. Unlike the Poet, I do have a heart."

"I'm sorry. I'm far too relaxed… I wanted to ask about the heart, though."

"What is there to ask?" Crowley looked puzzled.

"Well, explain it to me! I didn't understand a thing."

"You don't edit me, by the way, don't think I failed to notice!"

"I'm indulging your ego and abusing my own taste."

"Well, that's flattering."

"I like… what you write."

"Come, angel, it's getting hot. Let's go home and… ice cream?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Good."

***

Crowley generously poured Bailey's over their servings of vanilla ice cream.

"My dear, it's barely nine in the morning."

"Whatever do you need a clear head for?"

"Fair enough." Ezra resigned and accepted his bowl. "So. Explain."

"I'll let Gal do it."

_ They had just walked into the garden when Sandalphon greeted them coldly and then grinned. Crowley blinked and the man disappeared. _

_ "What have you done to him?" The Poet asked in horror. _

_ "What was he doing here? In my labyrinth!"  _

_ "I must have written my house along with him into the labyrinth." _

_ "That was daft, you know?" _

_ "Why, thank you!" _

_ Gal paused and looked at the Poet inquisitively. _

_ "I sent him to the nearest unpleasant place. The first heart you made for yourself was a pearl, wasn't it? That's why you're holding onto the oyster shell for dear life." _

_ "Wrong!" The Poet took a step back and would have fallen into the pond, had Gal not caught him. _

_ "Then tell me what happened!" _

_ "I won't. You're a strange, dangerous creature, and I don't have to listen to you!" _

_ "What was so embarrassing about giving your heart to someone else?" _

_ "They didn't deserve it!" The Poet yelled. "And you don't deserve to hear about it." _

_ Gal stood there pensively.  _

_ "Fine, you're right. I'm being obnoxious. Royalty, you know… good… I'll leave you to it, then?" _

_ "You'd better." _

_ "Alright. Well then… have a nice day. Should I take you to Alpha Centauri?" _

_ "You shouldn't!" _

_ "You're in danger." _

_ "Because of you!" _

_ "I had nothing to do with it," Gal raised his arms in surrender. _

_ "Alright then! I… loved someone. I wrote them a letter telling them so, but fuck my life, I was so in love, I forgot everything, forgot what I'm capable of, and so, as I pledged my heart to them, I literally, physically lost my heart. I… conjured something, out of my love, my elation, and there it was, within me, beating steadily, a diamond heart. They… they said "Oh you foolish, soft, old man. We should cherish the pure connection of our souls and not tarnish it with the ways of common folk". And just like that I knew that I almost died for someone who didn't care for me. Satisfied? I made a fool of myself! Glad?" _

_ "Not at all. What a bastard. Come, Poet, I'll take you to my perfect, free, safe kingdom, and I'll make you a new heart, I swear." _

_ "I don't want a new heart! I want this one, eternal and dead, to remind me what a fool I was to believe someone would love me so much they'd…" _

_ "Shut the fuck up, Poet…" _

"Crowley, should I remind you it's a children's book?"

"Oi, angel, it stopped being a children's book a long time ago."

"I wasn't aware."

"Now you are. I'll take you to lunch."

"It's still morning."

"I'll take you to lunch anyway."

***

It was something unhinged, something deranged. Crowley took him shopping, or rather Crowley was buying himself a lot of things he'd never wear, suddenly angry and restless, playing imaginary kanun on his lap when they stopped for coffee, whistling a Monteverdi's opera on their way to that same fish restaurant he had taken Ezra to before. The lunch was hazy, and then they were back at Crowley's penthouse, slowly but certainly getting drunk, and Crowley was kind of sitting on the sofa, but upside down, and mumbling.

"In the world… in some other world… they'll have the law of Auden for all the artists."

"Whatever it is you mean, my dear? What is your point?"

"My point is… my point is… my point is… a profession! That's my point."

"Profession? And what does it have to do with Auden?"

"And I thought you were well-read, angel! Remember, Auden has an essay… and he proclaims that he'd like for every poet to have a profession, something real, something tangible, alright? And I would be a luthier!"

"I would be a clockmaker. I'd make time for everyone! I'd turn it back, if need be!"

"There… there it is! It would be against the Auden's law to use one's  _ poetic  _ talent for something… real. Something concerning _ profession. _ "

"Makes sense."

" _ Makes sense. _ Right. Doesn't feel right… doesn't… I'd feel something was amiss with you when you gave your heart away, I'd run to you, I'd make sure you were alive and well and still fucking in love with someone who'd never know that you are lovely, soft, sturdy, strong, beautiful. That real power lies in opting for being vulnerable and gentle… I can't help being angry with whoever it was that still owns your heart."

"You brought it back to me, my dear."

"Nah, angel, I got you drunk."

"Then you made me feel about thirty years younger than I am."

"Ezra, stop it. Let's… go on, ok?"

"As you fish… I mean wish. Let me bring the laptop."

_ Gal left the Poet to sulk by the pond and walked out of the garden again. He wanted to get to the forest, and in no time ("Curious," he thought. "Very curious, indeed.") he was there. His first steps brought him peace and quiet. He changed into a female form again and kept walking.  _

_ She quickly got lost in the forest, and that feeling was more akin to something a person wandering in a labyrinth might feel, but the feeling didn't last. The healthy, green trees of her first minutes in the forest were replaced with the sick, twisted, pale white trees. Their pain was in the air, their persistence to keep growing, however monstrously, was admirable.  _

_ Gal walked between the trees, warily looking around, until he came by a hill, and as a twig creaked under her feet, she saw the hill slowly rising until she could make out a dragon's head. The white eyes seemed blind, but the dragon smelled the air, sniffed and said: _

_ "Well… interesting… has he found someone daring enough to rescue his useless heart?" _

_ "Who are you?" Asked Gal. She was angered by the dragon's tone, so her fear couldn't be of any less consequence. _

_ "I'm Gabriel. I have the Poet's heart. Such a humiliation, really… other dragons guard the greatest treasures, but I need to guard that soft, stupid, naive, fussy heart… it's still beating, still disturbing my slumber." _

_ "No wonder you're blind," said Gal and silently walked closer to the dragon.  _

_ "Are you moving, whatever you are?" _

_ "I'm Gal, the monarch of Alpha Centauri. I have come to steal the Poet's heart from you." _

_ "You think you can do it… just another one of his… admirers…" Gabriel rose to his feet fully and opened his frankly ludicrous small wings.  _

_ "No, I just want his heart for myself…" _

_ "Then… try and take it." _

_ "Why do you need it anyway?" _

_ "He doesn't want it back. He's… in agony. I like it…" _

_ Gal let out a frustrated sigh.  _

_ "You're terrible. Well… and what else can I say? En guarde." _


	7. Chapter 7

As the morning crept in, Ezra stirred and then abruptly lifted his head which resulted in nausea and a rather… stunning view. Crowley was asleep on the floor, something both erotic and ridiculous in the way he laid there, calm, somehow comfortable, on his back, arms by his sides, one leg slightly bent, head turned to Ezra, the rebab close to the fingers of his right hand. He didn't seem to have fallen asleep after too much wine, he didn't seem to have been affected by the alcohol in any way apart from the deep and peaceful slumber, hard floor be damned. 

"Whyever are you so… harmonious?" Ezra mumbled rubbing his face. He felt his age, his weight, his size in the most uncomfortable way possible. 

"Morning…" Said Crowley softly and sat up. "Are you alright? I tried to wake you up, but you just wouldn't be bothered," he smiled. 

"How come you look so refreshed?"

"I had a very good night's sleep. I'm very sorry you didn't."

Ezra wanted to snap back but noticed that he was covered with a warm blanket, his feet were bare, although he didn't remember taking his shoes off. "Why did you sleep here?" Ezra asked. 

"Didn't want to leave you here alone. I'm getting you drunk, angel, I should bear the consequences just as much as you… you shouldn't bear them at all, it's all my fault… I'll make you something fresh and green." Crowley easily got up. Ezra envied him, but stronger than the envy was an easy morning desire to get closer, to be supported in every sense of the word by that man in front of him.

"The fridge is empty, my dear."

"Well… then I'll have coffee and I'll go out to…"

"I want to come with you."

"Of course. Anytime you want. Anything you want, really." 

"I hope your kindness is not a result of your guilt."

"I'm not kind. Just feels good to have, you know, a friend."

"You have Bea."

"It's different… Ezra?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"If you ever feel inclined to… get closer, I wouldn't mind in the least."

"Why don't you get closer?"

"I'm your host. It would mean I'm abusing my position." 

Ezra didn't know what to reply, so he opted for something trivial and off-topic.

"I think I need a shower."

"Of course. How about we go to the botanical garden after breakfast? There's a bird watching park across from it too. And there's Timna!"

"What about your story?"

"I'm afraid it's almost over."

"Seems rather short, don't you think?"

"It is rather short… the truth is… I had an entirely different story in mind before you came, and it kept changing, so… go get your shower, angel. I'll make coffee."

***

Was it courting? If it was, it was deliciously sweet, something out of books, something out of this world, just as the morning mountains in Ezra's window looked like petrified clouds. Was it courting? Was it seriously playful or was it playfully serious? Did he want it? Bea had told him once that Crowley always drove everyone mad with his questions, so much so there was only a handful of conductors ready to work with him and they too were of the frustratingly curious kind. As it was, Ezra was asking a lot of questions, and the main difference was that he didn't have the courage to ask Crowley.

Had Ezra been as brilliant a musician as he was a listener, he would just go down and pick an instrument and just rebab things at Crowley, and Crowley would repeat it with the lute and add something. They might have such an intimate, baffling (to anyone else) conversation. But Ezra had to use words, and he had discovered it hadn't worked out so well, so he just went down and they drove to the shops.

They brought their groceries back, and unloaded the car and at some point Crowley used a butternut squash as a very confused mandolins who hadn't been aware of being one mere moments before, and then Ezra took it from Crowley and tried to scoop it out with a fork, and  _ I thought you wanted soup angel you're making noodles you know that,  _ and Crowley took it away from Ezra and scooped it with a special spoon ( _ It's a bloody ice cream spoon angel really now _ ), and Crowley made soup and red lentil curry and cooked some red rice, and Ezra tried to get a hold of the dishwasher, and Crowley shooed him away with a laugh, and in the end Ezra was sitting by the table as Crowley danced around the kitchen to  _ Mad about you _ putting things in order, and  _ you'll make a prison of my life if you became another's wife _ , and then they ate and cleaned and drove to the botanical garden where they were sitting on a bench in the tropical forest segment, artificial rain sprinkling and refreshing them, and once they were home, Crowley was down with a cold.

***

"Dear, this is childish. Eat the soup." Ezra patiently sat by Crowley and tried to spoon-feed him.

"I need chicken soup. Jewish penicillin." Crowley whined. He was adorable and had a very red nose indeed.

"I'll make you one!"

"Nah, you're gonna burn my flat and I like it. It has you all over it by now, I found your repulsive tartan socks in my room yesterday." Crowley sneezed so desperately, Ezra expected to see him wiping half his soul off his nose.

"You did the laundry, Crowley, I'm hardly to blame."

"You are to blame! Nobody's touching my underwear unless we're very happily married!" Crowley sneezed again.

"So, in order to do the laundry I need to marry you?"

"I thought it was a given… I'm dying."

"No, my dear, you're being very dramatic."

"And you're laughing at me, you heartless man."

"I'm going to make you chicken soup… Do you want me to call your mother so that she guides me through the process?"

"Noooo! No way! She's teaching. I'm gonna do it myself."

"Dearest, you can't make a trip to the bathroom on your own. I'm not letting you use the stairs!"

"I'm letting myself use the stairs! I'm a grown-up! Oh, I'm gonna die alone…"

"No, my sweet, you're totally dying on me."

"That's some terrible manners… no, I'm going down."

Crowley made his way downstairs. Ezra watched him curling onto himself on the sofa.

"Take the chicken out," he began. "You'll need to chop an onion and a carrot…"

Ezra did his best, cut his finger, considered whining about dying but thought better about it and decided against it. Crowley whined, wrapped himself in the blanket and stepped into the kitchen. When the soup was joyously bubbling on the stove he fell back on the sofa.

"Let's do some writing."

"Are you sure, my dear?"

"No. Can you type?"

"I can!" (Ezra couldn't.)

"Doubt that… I'll dictate it then."

"No, I can type." 

"I think you're more stubborn than I am. Alright then…"

_ Gal turned into a bush viper and jumped at the dragon. The beast hopped around trying to get rid of the viper who stang him at every chance. _

_ "You won't get his heart by defeating me!" He finally yelled. _

_ "And why is that?" Gal stopped her onslaught. _

_ "His heart… it's… I'm guarding the entrance… down there… there's his heart. It won't be easy, you know?" _

_ "Where is it?" Gal made herself much larger than could be expected from a bush viper and held the dragon pushing him into the ground. _

_ "Below me… I'll let you enter… but you'll have to negotiate with Sehnsukh." _

_ "Who is that?" _

_ "It's… they are… a god of… of yearning." _

_ "What is this nonsense? Who would worship yearning?" _

_ "Nobody would. But everyone would pray to them to stay away. The Poet gave them his heart. You'll have to wrestle Sehnsukh… no one can do it." _

_ "Let me in!" Demanded Gal transforming into a man. _

_ "Alright… alright…" _

_ "And when I come back, you won't be here, won't be in my labyrinth." _

_ "Where will I be?" _

_ "Your highness!" Yelled Hastur. _

_ "My liege!" Cried Ligur.  _

_ They rushed to Gal and the dragon. _

_ "You're always on time! My perfect knights!" Gal laughed heartily. "What brings you here?" _

_ "We were looking for you!" Admitted Hastur. _

_ "Just to tell you we miss you," added Ligur. _

_ "Well then… I'll be away for some time more. Would you please take the dragon back to Alpha Centauri with you, ok? Take good care of him…" _

_ Dragon turned his blind head to Gal then to Hastur and Ligur. _

_ "Of course, your highness," said Ligur. Hastur nodded and waved his hand turning the dragon into a tiny lizard and carefully putting him into his pocket. _

_ "Perfect… well… I'll see you soon. I want it to be the end of October when I come back, and a sunset should be arranged for." _

_ "Of course," Ligur and Hastur nodded and disappeared back into the forest. _

_ "Now…" Gal looked at the dragon's nest. "How do I get in?" He jumped once, twice, and then the ground swallowed him whole. _


	8. Chapter 8

"Ezra, I'm not playing board games!" 

The morning was late, the breakfast was decent (Ezra had made it, it was nothing but decent which wasn't exactly a compliment), Crowley was sick and adorably obnoxious about it. He didn't make a fuss of looking like shit, he embraced the look with royal grace and red nose.

"Well, my dear, I can't serenade you."

"I never serenaded you! What a preposterous idea!"

"Right…"

"I have Netflix. I want to watch something."

"Do you know that you're cute?"

"Cute?! I'm not cute! Cute is a four letter word! I will not allow…"

"What do you want to watch?"

"First, take the Monopoly out of my sight!"

"How come you even own one?"

"Bea loves board games. I'm… a good friend."

"You are, my dear. What do you want to watch?"

"But will you stay with me?"

"I don't have much choice…" 

Crowley huffed, puffed and turned his back on Ezra.

"Oh dear… Crowley, don't be childish."

"I'm a bad host," said Crowley.

"No, you're a wonderful host."

"You're just saying it to make me feel better."

"Does it help?"

"Not at all. I want to watch  _ Golden girls _ ."

So they watched  _ Golden girls _ . Crowley dozed off several times, Ezra made good popcorn, a very good glintwine, ordered pizza in tolerable Hebrew and stayed with Crowley through the day.

"You know, my dear, I've had a very… pleasant day," said Ezra in the evening.

"Yeah, suit yourself," mumbled Crowley.

"I am. A lazy day of doing nothing… I can't think of a better day."

"Angel, you… you have terrible standards."

"At least I have standards. You, on the other hand, have cheese on your chin."

"Hey, if you don't like my chin, you'll have to clean it yourself, because I'm incapable…"

Ezra leaned over to cup Crowley's face and cautiously licked the cheese off of Crowley's chin.

"Bastard…"

"I think I am… but you gave me a blanket permission…"

"I have cheese on my tongue too, you know."

"Do you, now?"

"Angel… I… whatever. Do whatever you want."

"What do you want, my dear?"

"I want to cuddle," confessed Crowley quietly.

"I'll have shower and cuddle you. Sounds good?"

"Sounds incredible."

When Ezra returned from the shower, Crowley was fast asleep. Ezra laid down next to Crowley and smelled his hair. 

"You know… once upon a time, there were a few molecules that formed an organism, just one cell… Then a few cells began living together and in time formed a multicellular organism. It went on and on, until this sweet codependence rose up to the emotional level… So tell me, Crowley, the music that you are, do you think we… we are like that first molecules? Do you think we could form one body, one soul, one mind?"

"Very poetic, angel, really."

"Fuck! I thought you were asleep."

"I was, until you started whispering that sweet nonsense in my ear."

"I rather hoped you might like it."

"I do, very much. But… you've had a bad break-up, angel, and I… I like you too damn much to agree to be… a bridge to your calmness… Although I might, because it will make you feel better."

"Crowley, look at me."

"Nah. I'm sleepy, you're blindingly bright. No good will come out of it."

"You're… right. What if we try?"

"No, angel… I… I like you too much for it. Too much to deny you anything." Crowley obligingly turned to Ezra.

"There you are, beautiful…"

"We're half through the last chapter. Then you'll leave me… then my sabbatical will come to an end… We all have our lives, right? All this is just a distraction, a break, a change of scenery."

"Do you yourself believe in it, my dear?"

"I believe what I can see. I can't believe what I would like to see… after all, I can't see it. You'll go back to your life, and I'll go back to mine. You'll meet someone worthy of you, and I'll meet another lute."

"We can change it, can't we? Can… take the risk."

"Do you want to take the risk, angel?"

"I don't know."

"Thank you. For your honesty… We're too beautiful together to be real." Crowley shut his eyes and mouth. 

Ezra snuggled closer to Crowley. "It feels… right, to be next to you, close to you."

"Stop, angel, really. I'm not made of stone."

"I… Do you need me?"

"Always, angel. I just didn't know it. I wish I had. I wish I had courted you properly."

"Like what, my dear? Picnic? Dinner at the Ritz?"

"Well, yes. A romantic night trip to Timna… When the columns of Solomon are lit and golden, when the mountains are clouds under your feet and you can… you feel as if you could touch the stars. It feels as if I had made them for you. That I had predicted your arrival, had known you'd come along…"

"Darling… oh darling."

"It could have been, you know? All the times you came to my concerts with Bea. All the times you stood next to Gabriel and I paid no attention… and you were there. Bright, beautiful, soft, angel, so soft, so… true that you could have never been true."

Ezra held him tighter, impossibly closer. "So… we've known of each other for ages, and we've been stupid enough to never… go out together…" he whispered.

"Yes," Crowley turned around and nuzzled Ezra's neck.

"And I met that bastard and wasted my time on him, and you have been a phone call away, haven't you?" Ezra placed a gentle kiss on Crowley's brow.

"I have. Why haven't you called me? Why haven't I called you?"

"Maybe we were always meant to be bloody idiots, my dear… my darling. Why don't you make a story about us? The way it should have been. I will be a proper sultan this time, I will just hold you and listen to you."

"They had three kids, you know? Or four… can't recall, to be honest."

"Who?"

"Us… the sultan and Scheherazade."

"Then crown me, make me a sultan, make me the first, the most privileged and the most beloved of listeners of your stories."

"Fuck, angel. I can't refuse you a thing."

It was dark, the sea and the sand had it all sorted out and loved each other, and Crowley spoke quietly, sweetly, lovely of something that should have transpired.

_ Crowley and Bea walked into the shop as if they had owned it.  _ Gabriel strode confidently towards his brother and greeted him heartedly, while his companions went browsing.

"You didn't say…"

"Well, it's Bea's best friend. I don't argue with them, you know?"

"Oh, I do know, Gabriel. Who is he?"

"He's Anthony Crowley, the one you never shut up about."

"I do shut up about him quite a lot."

"Anyway. They had lunch together and Crowley refused to fuck off… The cheek! Bea almost hit me with his lute. I think I should introduce you… Darling!"

"What the fuck, Gabriel?" Bea appeared next to him. "Hi Ezra. Sorry about any inconvenience, he's just had a tantrum, and I do need a friend nearby when he does that." Bea kissed Gabriel's cheek and smiled cheekily at their husband.

"Mom and dad should adore you, Bea."

"They do." Bea and Ezra embraced. Bea turned around, still hugging Ezra with one arm and called into the depths of Ezra's shop: "Crowley! Come on, I want you to meet my brother-in-law!"

"Alright, fine, no need to scream," said a voice from afar. The owner of the voice walked closer, his gait very confident and somehow shaky and his nose buried in a book.

"Stop pretending to read and meet Ezra!" Bea commanded. Crowley looked up, his face grumpy and displeased. 

What he saw was a man a bit older than himself, with bright, so incredibly bright blue eyes, lovely friendly smile, soft curves and cream-coloured clothes.

"Hello, angel," said Crowley and blushed. 

"You flirt," teased Bea.

"Not a flirt, just stating a fact and being obnoxious about it," replied Crowley still looking at Ezra. He wanted to believe Ezra was looking at him equally intensely.

"How about… we have lunch?" Suggested Crowley eloquently.

"You've just had lunch," reminded Bea.

"I could use another one." Crowley shrugged.

"By the way, this is Crowley. He's my best friend. And this is Ezra, he's the best man on Earth." Bea did the introductions.

"Oh my dear, you could definitely use another lunch, you're so thin!"

"I am, right?" Agreed Crowley unexpectedly. Bea looked at him in shock. 

"Since when do you let people judge your appearance?"

"How about we go to the Ritz?" Asked Crowley.

"Oh, that would be just lovely!" Ezra exclaimed. "And so delightfully out of proportion! Yes, let's do the Ritz!" Ezra went to fetch his coat. Crowley finally turned his head to Bea and Gabriel. 

"I guess I'm finally out of your hair, lovey doveys!" He scowled.

"Yeah… wow. That was… quick." Bea dragged Gabriel out of the shop so fast Gabriel didn't have enough time to grasp what had been happening.

Ezra returned with his coat.

"Were you serious about the Ritz, though?" He looked at Crowley with doubt. 

"Yes, absolutely. Unless you have other ideas."

"Where's…" Ezra looked around. "Where's Bea? And their husband?"

"They dragged him out of here without any explanation." Crowley blushed. 

"That was very…"

"Elegant of them?" Asked Crowley.

"Yes. Indeed… the Ritz?"

"Yes. My treat. Shall we?" 

_ "And just like that, my dear?"  _ Asked Ezra into Crowley's hair.

"Why not?"

"I don't know… this way you're sort of let me into your life effortlessly."

"Ok, Ezra, then tell me your version."

"Oh, I would say that Bea introduced us after one of your concerts. I was instantly charmed and scared of even starting a conversation with you… Starstruck, if you wish. I gathered my wits by the end of the evening and asked you out for a drink because you had been visibly uncomfortable in such a noisy company. We went to a pub I like. I ordered for you because you were tired. We drank in silence. I wanted to… I wanted to invite you back to mine, to continue drinking."

"I accepted immediately. I had never seen someone as… beautiful as you. So kind, so caring. Wanted to hold you and be held by you."

"Well then… we went back to mine and drank some more. I ordered you a taxi, I thought it was the right thing to do, but you looked at me with such… disappointment I wanted to cancel it immediately. You left anyway…"

"Didn't want to impose, angel."

"Of course. I called Bea in the morning, endured their mocking and asked for your number. Called you. Just to check you were alright, you see, and you immediately invited me for breakfast… it was easy, being next to you, talking to you… Then you left somewhere beautiful and far. I waited for you. You called me every evening, you said you wanted to remind yourself where you really belonged and I couldn't believe you. You swayed between being persistent and indifferent. I could never know what it all meant, but I wanted to hear you anyway, and it was the only thing I made sure you knew. You were in Lima one evening, and I… I think I couldn't bear it anymore, wanted to be crazy for once and flew over to you. I regretted it all the way, but you picked me up and kissed me after your concert. You took me back to your room - I didn't even bother to make my own reservation, I missed you too much. I like to think that you moved in with me afterwards. You came back to me. Stayed with me for as long as you could and always promised to come back. I didn't believe you at first, but when I did, you hadn't caught up, so you proposed,  _ so that you know I'll always come back to you angel _ , and you did… Maybe we even had three to four children."

"Four," interrupted Crowley. "I'd like four." 

"Fine. We had four children. They all grew up to become rabbis. Your mother was so proud of them. I converted after we adopted the first one. We lived long and happy lives. We saw our children get old and their children grow. We died together. We met again…"


	9. Chapter 9

Crowley woke up at around ten in the morning, just as Ezra was finishing the edit of Gal's adventures.

"Good morning, dearest," said Ezra softly and was cut off short by Crowley practically jumping out of bed. 

"I'm fine. I'm wasting my life. I gotta clean," said Crowley and walked away. Ezra looked at the place where Crowley had been sleeping a minute ago. He was still looking when Crowley called him from the kitchen.

"Angel! I mean, Ezra! Breakfast."

Ezra carefully went downstairs and was greeted with the fullest English breakfast in his life, although kosher, with fried pastrami instead of bacon.

"Ehm… Dear… Crowley, darling, are you ok?" Asked Ezra taking a seat.

"Me? I'm absolutely fine. I need to clean. You grab a book and you know, relax." Replied Crowley and proceeded to assemble a vacuum cleaner. It was as posh, beautiful (really? a vacuum cleaner?) and deadly as Crowley's Bentley. It hummed and Ezra could swear that at one point Crowley was glued to the carpet by the sheer sucking power of the hellish machine he was handling. 

Crowley donned huge headphones and Ezra realised just how quiet the vacuum cleaner was, because he could hear perfectly the song Crowley was listening to. 

Ezra swallowed his laugh. Crowley was moving in the most ridiculous and at the same time hottest manner possible.

_ And that'll end ya  _

_ You should surrender _

_ You'll never win _

_ Unless you give in _

Crowley flirted with the floor, with the sofa in front of the one Ezra was sitting on, then with the sofa Ezra was sitting on.

_ So stop _

_ Stop you're surrounded _

_ I've got my love _

_ Up around ya _

_ And that'll end ya _

_ You should surrender _

_ You'll never win _

_ Unless you give in _

_ So stop _

_ Baby stop _

_ One wrong move _

_ And I've got ya _

Crowley cleaned the first floor and went upstairs. Ezra didn't really know what to think he had so many thoughts at once… He could barely remember his unfaithful lover's name. He had that almost Greek feeling of everything in his life having a single purpose of ending up in an obnoxiously modern penthouse in Eilat, in the company of one Anthony J. Crowley who was cleaning his apartment with the passion of someone getting ready for Passover, all the while dancing like a loon to a playful song. It was by all accounts the most wonderful experience of Ezra's life, so much so that he began to wonder whyever he hadn't brought any condoms… No, that was too much. That lovely, lanky boy of forty with the murderous vacuum cleaner deserved to be spoilt, courted, spoon-fed, comforted, cherished and more importantly loved, so loved. 

Something was buzzing, vibrating near Ezra and for several moments he paid no attention to it, until he saw that the sound was coming from Crowley's phone on the kitchen table. 

Ezra carefully lowered his feet to the clean floor and walked over to the table. The phone said that  _ Shma Israel  _ was calling. Ezra huffed and answered.

"Hello?" He said.

"Hi… This is not Joseph. Who are you?" Said a lovely soft voice in the phone.

"Hm… This is Ezra. I'm afraid Crowley is cleaning the apartment."

"Oh! I see… Ezra… as in Ezra Fell, Bea's brother-in-law?"

"Rabba Ela?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"You're his mother!"

"That I am. Is… is he alright? Does he eat? Does he smoke too much? Does he say his morning prayers?"

"You're listed as  _ Shma Israel _ ."

"Oh, I know. He thinks it's funny. Is he alright? Is he safe? Are you going to break his heart and make me take care of the mess?"

"No, never. I came here to help him with his book… I'm afraid it's too… coded to be published without editing."

"Well, then he's in good hands, if I remember correctly. What is he doing?"

"He's cleaning the apartment. He was sick, caught a cold you see…"

"And was an obnoxious childish arse about it."

"That he was. He's lovely. He made his own chicken soup."

"Oh my dear, sweet child. Do you love him?"

"I do," Ezra answered simply after but a few moments of doubt.

"Did you doubt your feelings or their propriety?"

"Propriety. I can't lie to a rabbi."

"Of course you can't. Tell him I love him too. Tell him I love him so much."

"I will."

"Thank you, Ezra. He's a good boy. Such a tender good boy. Please, do give him love."

"I promise."

"Thank you. Tell me, if you want, what do you think?"

"I think I'm too old for certainty, Rabba Ela. I think that for once in my life I don't care about the odds. I just want him. Want to be near him. We rhyme."

"Yes, you seem to. Make sure he eats, doesn't smoke too much, brushes his teeth, cleans his instruments, practices every day. Make sure he knows how loved he is… I… I can't miss him, I have my life and he has his, but tell him, once he stops disinfecting his apartment, that he's so loved. Does he love you?"

"Oh my… my oh my, I rather hope he does."

"He's always been fast. Fast learner, fast driver."

"Oh yes, I experienced that."

"It's not so bad when you get used to it. How are Bea and Gabriel?"

"They are fine. How come Crowley wasn't at the wedding?"

"He doesn't do weddings. Maybe he was afraid I would marry him off to someone too… Should have, huh?"

"That would have made for quite a story. Bea would have loved it!"

"They would have, right?"

Crowley appeared before Ezra so unexpectedly that the man yelped.

"Is it Shma? I mean ima?"

"Yes… Rabba Ela, he's here."

"Alright. Tell him. Bye."

"Bye." Ezra put the phone down and didn't take his eyes off of Crowley.

"What did she say?"

"Said, and I quote,  _ I love him _ ."

Crowley grinned.

"You're looking at me like you know what you're looking at. I like it."

"I do know, my dear. Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you know what you're looking at?"

"You."

"Such a straightforward, all-encompassing answer! I can read anything into it."

"You can. You should. As long as it pleases you, of course."

Ezra smiled, took a deep breath and clumsily yanked Crowley down into a kiss. And it was wonderful, marvelous, fantastic, impossible, inevitable, promised, deserved, earned, won, conquered, sacred, sanctified, soft, wet, warm, tender, trusting, relying, reliable, mutual, morning, evening, adoring, admired, fuzzy, hazy, dazed, dizzy, halting, going, flowing, glowing, giddy and loving. 

"I still haven't cleaned my instruments."

"You're getting me drunk again, my darling."

"Tell me, do you call everyone  _ dear  _ and  _ darling _ ?"

"Jealous?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

"You shouldn't be. I promise to never call anyone that."

"Never? Never is a long time, angel."

"Never is no time at all. It might be a bit early for always, maybe, but I'm open to suggestions."

Crowley looked smitten and lost for words. Ezra ruffled his hair and kissed the tip of his nose. 

"Tell me about Gal."

"I'll need to… settle more… comfortably."

"I'm very comfortable with you in my lap."

"My knees will kill me. Eventually."

"Oh my sweet darling, how mundane would it be!" Ezra carefully pulled Crowley off of his lap and once the lanky man took the whole sofa, put his head on Crowley's chest and held him.

"I can't be comfortable, angel. I'm a cubist masterpiece."

"That's fine. More than so… go on." Ezra found his phone and opened the file.


	10. Chapter 10

_ Gal looked around. The light was different, had a wistful quality to it, something of a promise, of a distant call… Gal felt that way each time she grew restless and went traveling as a result.  _

_ She had expected the place to be far darker and hostile. _

_ "The dragon must have messed with my head. Well, let's go." _

_ She walked down an old and abandoned road surrounded mostly by ruins of houses, castles and bridges that appeared to have connected two points that didn't need to be connected by a bridge in the first place. _

_ Meanwhile the Poet remained by the pond. Hastur and Ligur returned and wished him a good day.  _

_ "Where… where's Gal?" _

_ "Oh her highness fell through the ground. She defeated a dragon and fell through the ground. But she wanted it, so she must be fine." Explained Ligur. _

_ "Dragon? Oh my…" The Poet rushed away from the pond and out of the garden and down to the forest. Hastur and Ligur exchanged looks and shrugged. _

_ Gal kept walking. It grew darker and the scenery didn't change, the far objects remained far and the near ones remained frustratingly close.  _

_ Gal stopped, put her hands on her hips. _

_ "Sehnsukh! Come here! I don't have enough time and your place is boring." _

_ A dark figure appeared before Gal. She looked closer and recognised the Poet. The Poet smirked and took a look at his arms, touched his face. _

_ "Interesting," he said. "Never took this form before. Who are you?" _

_ "You're not him… God of yearning, right." Gal blushed slightly and shifted into the male form. _

_ "I have his heart. Did you come for it?" Sehnsukh asked. _

_ "I did. Pardon, you're taking the appearance of a person your visitor yearns for, am I right?" _

_ "Quite right. Good for you to be so clever. I won't give you his heart. He sacrificed it willingly." _

_ "He sacrificed it by mistake." _

_ "Perhaps. He never regretted it though, that mistake. I have a feeling though that he made me and my place a part of the labyrinth unknowingly. All the better for us. We are all terribly bored in his head." _

_ "Give me his heart," demanded Gal. _

_ "You wanted an unsolvable labyrinth, didn't you? Well, you got it. You won't get his heart, you'll have to just leave, and we'll keep wandering through his mind… it definitely got more interesting…" _

_ "Nah, won't leave without his heart. How about you take mine instead?" _

_ "Your heart isn't as hungry as his. I love me a hungry heart." _

_ "You're strange. And stupid too. If you took this form, it means that my heart is hungry." _

_ "Not like an old man's heart, though…" _

_ "Stupid! You're making me furious! I'm as old as he is. My hunger, well, it's new, alright." _

_ "But… will it grow?" _

_ "His heart. Give it to me. Once you have mine you'll see how hungry it is." Gal grinned. _

_ "I guess no harm in giving it a go. But if I don't like it…" _

_ "We'll swap back," Gal's grin turned slier. _

_ They exchanged hearts. Sehnsukh wiggled a bit. Smiled smugly. And then his eyes flew open, desperate and pleading, he fell to the ground grasping his head, wailing in pain. He changed into a ship, then a cloud, then a book, then the metamorphosis became too quick to follow.  _

_ "Whaaaat have you dooooone to meeeee?" Wailed Sehnsukh. _

_ "Gave you my heart, my hungry, curious heart. You're far too used to the hopeless yearning of a lover, but I'm of the different sort. I yearn for knowledge, for adventure and it never lets me enjoy the things I find as much and for as long as I want. How is the hunger?" _

_ "Insatiable…" hissed Sehnsukh. "Giiive meeee baaaack his heaaaaart." _

_ The Poet reached the place where the dragon had slept. "Oh Gal, what have you done? What have I done?" He crouched down and ran his fingers through the patch of gray sand where the dragon had slept. _

_ "Is that you or that bastard tricked me in the end?" The Poet heard. Gal crouched next to him before he could even turn his head.  _

_ "Gal… oh my dear, I'm so glad to see you! I was worried sick." _

_ "I'm touched." Gal smiled.  _

_ "Did he hurt you? I'm so sorry, I never thought… it was foolish of me to turn myself into the labyrinth, I'm not that complex and as it turns out, I can be dangerous." _

_ "You're not dangerous. I got your heart. So…" _

_ The Poet stood up and looked at Gal shocked.  _

_ "How..? Wh… what did you do?" _

_ "I gave Sehnsukh mine. He's… not well, I'm afraid." Gal smiled almost cruelly. "The point I'm trying to make here… the point is you never give your heart to anyone, alright? No good person would ever ask for such a thing." _

_ "Yet, you did it. For me…" _

_ "I imagine things. I had another heart the moment I gave my own up, and just as hungry and curious… Aaaaand. I solved the labyrinth. Guess you'll just have to keep trying." _

_ "Gal…" _

_ "Yes, that's me. I'm going home, poet. You're welcome to join me, you know." _

_ And the Poet did. They returned to Alpha Centauri together, and Gal never bothered the Poet until the Poet couldn't stand not being bothered, so they traveled together a bit. Hastur and Ligur took to fuss about the Poet and much less about Gal which of course was a ruse the three of them came up with to be able to take care of Gal. The Poet's heart stayed in his new house and in time he could see that his heart, the real heart, the one he had missed from the start, spent his day sprawled on his throne and seeing to everyone's happiness before walking down into the gardens and taking the Poet with him. Sehnsukh never appeared again. The dragon guarded the gates of Alpha Centauri. _

Some time later Ezra walked into his kitchen where Crowley was busy with their breakfast. Crowley looked concerned and Ezra knew the reason - the clutter. Ezra's flat was too small for all Ezra's things that left no space for Ezra himself, besides Ezra had never been particularly well organised, but with Crowley joining him the clutter increased and for Crowley it was a torture. Nevertheless a few times when Ezra tried to get rid of some of his belongings or rearrange them differently, he was lovingly stopped and reassured that everything was just fine. 

"Darling," called Ezra sweetly.

"We've been together for a while," replied Crowley without turning to Ezra. "Something needs to change. I want things to change."

"Of course, dearest. I can get rid…" 

"No, I'm not talking about bloody not being able to find a fucking spatula!" Crowley continued with his back to Ezra. 

"What are you talking about then?"

Ezra was suddenly rather cold in the feet and hot in the ears. 

"Marry me?" Crowley finally stopped looking for  _ a fucking spatula _ and turned around to gaze longingly at Ezra. It melted Ezra each time and Crowley gazed longingly a lot.

"Marry you?"

"Oh fuck! It's too early, right? See, I wanted to marry you after about two hours in your company, but it's not something people do, is it?" He asked in doubt.

"Don't give a damn about people, my dear, or what they do. I will, of course."

"Thank you! Gosh!" Crowley collapsed on the floor dramatically, and as Ezra had learned in the past months, sincerely. 

"Did you think I'd refuse you? Was it why you've been so… tetchy?"

"I've been tetchy because I have a new job, because I have to talk to people, because I'm trying not to screw this… fairy tale we have up, because… well, yes, your place is all clutter, and it drives me mad. I have too much stuff."

"Could you please get up, my love? I'd love to kiss you."

Crowley obediently stood up. Ezra kissed him, and to be honest, their breakfast was no more in no time.

"Or we could burn all the extra stuff, you know," Ezra laughed into Crowley's lips as the man fumbled with the stove.

"We'll burn ourselves and please don't be morbid when happy, angel."

"That's Bea's influence, I'm afraid."

_ Some time earlier _

"Do you think I'm clingy and needy?" Asked Crowley one beautiful morning.

"Well… since I spend every night in the boa constructor that you are, my love, yes, I rather think you are… Oh, you're not in the humourous mood. What is wrong, my dear?"

"I want to come back to London with you. I found a flat and…"

"You're moving in with me, aren't you?"

"No, no, I realise it's too early and…"

"It was a rhetorical question, Crowley," Ezra took a sip of his coffee, perfect as usual, as only Crowley could make.

"Oh… if you want…"

"Do you?"

"I want it very much."

"Really?" Crowley rested his chin on his hand and smiled like ice cream in the middle of a beach.

"Absolutely. Want you next to me all the bloody time."

"Because you are, the King's college, they invited me to… and it's ethnomusicology, you see? I don't think I deserve it but I traveled and learned and wrote some very in-depth analysis and… I just thought… I'd tour less and be in London and… oh for fuck's sake, I want to be near you, ok? I don't want you to think you need to change anything about your life and… why the hell are you looking at me like that?"

"You'll practice less too, my love." Ezra replied in lieu of any other answer.

"Nah, I'll play a lot. I'll serenade you each evening… or not."

"I'd very much like that, Crowley. I can't… thank you enough."

"For what, angel?" 

"For being with me as readily and quickly as I want to be with you."

Crowley plucked at his lute absent-mindedly.

"And please eat something! You've prepared a feast and all you're doing is serenading me at eight in the morning!"

"I wanted to bribe you."

"No need. I'm yours all the same."

It did take some time to arrange for all the instruments to be transferred to Ezra's flat, and it did take exactly a day to sell Crowley's penthouse. They returned to London together and Crowley spent the rest of the year writing his course and entire August in panic about it being not good enough, but it was all worth it. Ezra ended up with a roof garden as a result of Crowley's anxiety. Crowley remained the perfect resident of Eilat with his canvas sandals, replaced with Blundstones during the colder months, and old t-shirts which he stole from Ezra and which Ezra ironed for him. When they returned from the registrar's office, Ezra's lover had been waiting for them by the shop's door and Ezra tenderly thanked him for being such a douchebag, never letting go of Crowley's hand, mostly because Crowley was ready to kill the man on the spot. Everything was perfect. The clutter was sorted and Crowley's story was never published.  _ I only made it for you, angel. You know, to take your mind off of things and probably to seduce you. _

**Author's Note:**

> [The beautiful art done for me:](https://ulspi.tumblr.com/post/614202636069158912/amazing-art-dcdavechicken-did-for-my-newly)


End file.
